The Old Witch of the North
by DiscordantSymphony
Summary: The higher Mysteries, that's what the maesters of Oldtown like to call it. They say that Magic is gone from the world, that it died with the dragons and the Children of the Forest and the giants. But the children live, the giants slumber and the Dragons will wake from stone. Magic lives on, and an old woman in the North knows the truth.
1. Chapter 1

The Old Witch of the North

Chapter One

The night was dark and held a bitter chill to it, her bones ached so deeply as she bore the brunt of it. Out in the distance, a wolf howled at the moon and it's pack answered back in great harmony. A family long separated that soon enough would be reunited once again, how very sweet a thought indeed. Though the sweetness of it did little to warm her against the cold.

Her footsteps made no noise as she walked, muffled by the carpet of leaves that covered the forest floor. Untold centuries unfold beneath her soles and they were wet and dark and damp with rot. She must remember to give her thanks to the gods that they had chosen to not have it rain tonight, she found herself growing terribly sick of rain as of late.

She pulled her ragged old cloak close to her as gust of cold air blow past her, she could almost here her bones shaking deep beneath her withered old skin. The Trickster played his games on her, on all of them, and she could do little but to endure it as best as she could. Her bundle slapped against her shoulder with each step she took and she took some little comfort in the knowledge that at the very least, soon enough she would have a full belly.

She came to the clearing where she had made her home, a few sticks and some animal hides did not make a castle but when it did rain or snow it kept her dry and that was all that she needed in truth. She assembled some sticks together and once her fire was going nicely, she undid her bindle and set to work on skinning the rabbits she had found, plump little buggers they were as well.

The furs she tied to her belt and the blood she bottled before she took hold of the small cooking pot she kept within her bindle, filled it with cold, clear water from the nearby stream and placed it atop the fire before she set to chopping the meat up. The rabbit meat was added to the pot, followed by onions and leeks and mushrooms and carrots she had been foraging for earlier.

She had half a black sausage left and a small block of yellow cheese, all of which she added to the stew. If she had sense she would have saved more of it for later, but she wished for the stew to be hearty. She took hold of a long wooden spoon and placed it into the cooking pot, slowing stirring it and letting out a small sigh at the smells coming from the pit.

The noise came quickly and it echoed all around her, how not? The wolfswood had a thousand ears and she could hear through most all of them, their intent was not dark in itself but it was driven by fear and by hunger. Thus, it could only end poorly. A weary sigh escaped her then and her eyes closed, death was on the winds, her hunger was spoiled and thus she readied herself for what was to come.

There were six of them, two men and four women. The largest was the leader, broad in the shoulder and tall. His head was shaven but his eyebrows and his beard were copper. He wore rings on each of his fingers and held an long axe in his hands, the man that followed behind him was shorted but was clearly his son. The nose was the same, the hair the same shade of red and he carried a similar axe.

A woman with dark hair and dark eyes and dressed in pelts, carrying a spear in her hands and a pair of knives at her hips. A blond women with blue eyes, a hatchet clung to like it was her lifeline to the world. A woman with red hair, more fire than copper with a large club banded with iron and her brown eyes were empty, dead but still walking.

And the last of them, shortest and youngest and more a girl than a woman. Her hair was black as a crow's cloak, her eyes were blue and cruel and her lips were as red as blood. She had a longbow in her arms and she smiled at the sight of her and in that moment, she knew that the young one was the cruellest of them all and would see her dead in a moment.

"Good evening to all of you." Her words were naught but politeness to them as she stood, clinging to the hope that perhaps this did not need to end poorly, though she already knew that it would. Her bones screamed protests at her movements but she ignored them as she started at the group of Free Folk who had slipped past Brandon's last defence, the smell of fear and the deepest of cold's clinging to them like a lady's favourite scent. "You all seem to have come a long way, you are welcome to share my fire and my stew."

"We won't be sharing anything Grandmother, we'll be talking." It was the words of the younger man then, but there was not hate in his words. Only fear disguised as bravery and boldness. "If you know what's good for you, you'll turn about and go right back into those woods and forget you ever saw any of us. Do you understand me?"

"We can't let her go." The one with the cruel eyes spoke, drawing an arrow from her quiver. "She must be from Winter's Town, she'll go and run right to Winterfell and then we'll have the Starks after us. Let's just kill her and be done with it." She had already knocked the arrow, it's head was cruel looking thing of black iron and she had to wonder who the cruel child had stolen it from.

The older man held up his hand and stared at her for a long moment, his voice was a low grumble when he finally did decide to speak. "Go now, but know that if you go to Winterfell and speak of this that I will make sure that you wished I had allowed Yalla to kill you. Leave us now."

"I am afraid I can not do that, you are hungry but so am I. I snared the rabbits, cut their throats, skinned them and cut up their meat. I put the pot to boil and added the meat to it, and the vegetables as well. The black sausage and the cheese was my last, the stew is mine. But I say again, you may share my fire and my stew. Will you break your meat with me, goodman?"

For a moment, she thought she might have saw a flash of hesitance on the man's face, but soon enough it turned to regret as he turned to the woman with the bow. "Clean shot to the heart, I don't want her suffering anymore than she has too." The girl looked disappointed but did raised her bow and drew back the string of it, and loosed the arrow.

It speed towards her, and old Aghna raised her hand but once and waved it at the same time as she whispered an old and forgotten word to most. The arrow burst into flames mid-flight, the ashes fell to the ground with singed iron arrow head amongst it. The wildings starred her, perhaps remembering all the stories their mothers had told them of witches and their powers they were said to have,

The younger man broke out of the stupor first and charged at her, murder in his eyes. Aghna sighed and spoke another word and when the man swung his hands down, he found that they were empty. He looked at her, his eyes wide and stumbled back away from her. Tripping over a root and staring at her like she was the worst monster in the world.

The woman with the spear and the woman with the hatchet both came at her together, fear making them move fast and without a singe thought of caution. Aghna raised her hands and with a groan, sent them both flying backwards. The woman with the spear landed on the forest floor, a soft groan slipping out of her lips as she lay there.

The woman with the hatchet was not so lucky, her body hit the large old oak tree at the edge of the clearing hard, a sickening crack filled the air and she slid to the base of the trunk. Her head bowed and entire unmoving.

Two arrows were loosed at her in quick succession and Aghna was quick to meet both of them, with a wave of her hand she changed the direction of them both so that both arrows would fly past her, flying into the darkness to be lost amongst the trees.

The older man came forward then, and his size did not give a hint to his speed. Every swing he made was so fast that Aghna had no chance to cast a spell, to summon the old powers to come to her aid. She fell to the ground to avoid a cut from the axe that would have taken off her head if she had stood to retrieve it and took advantage of the gap the man granted her as he raised his axe to finish her.

Aghna throw out her hand and shouted out the first spell that came into her mind, a flash of light filling the clearing. The man was sent flying away from her, a hole had been burnt through wolf pelt, old rusted chainmail, leather, skin, flesh and organs as he flew through the air and collided with the ground. Unmoving.

When she finally got to her feet, the hatchet was thrown to her and with a wave of her hand, the hatchet went flying back through mid air. It buried it's way into the neck of the woman who had thrown it, but there was no fear in her eyes. Only peace as she fell to the ground and bent her head, her life blood flowing out of her to the ground.

All that was left, was the one with the bow. The younger man was too terrified to move and the woman with the spear was gone, she had taken off into the woods and would not look back. The bow woman loosed arrow after arrow at her and Aghna made sure that they did not come with in an inch of her, flicking them away without a care in the world.

It only seemed to make the young girl angry, she threw away her bow and drew a dagger and lunged at her. Aghna simply sighed and held out her hand, the girl stopped in her tracks, the hand that held the knife frozen. The girl's eyes widen, terrified at what was happening to her.

Aghna leaned forward and whispered a word into her ear and then moved away from her, tears flooded the young woman's eyes and her hand shook so very had as she tried to fight the magic off of her. But alas, she could not. She brought her steel up to her throat and drew it across her neck, leaving naught but a long red line behind.

The girl stood there for a moment as the blood flowed and then collapsed to the ground, silenced filled the clearing in what seemed like an eternity and Aghna could only sigh and bring her hands up to her face.

It was not the whimpering of the man on the ground that made her show her face, but the sound of hooves falling against the ground. A man, highborn with dark brown hair and grey eyes rode into the clearing, a small child with the same hair and the same eyes, a girl, sat at her father's back. Five men on horseback surrounded them, all armed with spears and all spears were soon pointed at her.

Aghna raised her hands above her head to show she meant no harm, and tried her best not to sigh.

All she had wanted was some rabbit stew.

End of Chapter One

* * *

 **Wanted to try something a little bit different, for me at the very least. I hope this chapter intrigued you all for what is to come and you find Aghna to be an interesting character going forward, more will be revealed about her in the later chapters but don't worry, like most of my stories there will be chapters from other people's POVs.**

 **I am debating myself to either make the next chapter a Ned POV or to see it from Maester Luwin's point of view.**

 **And yes, the kid is Arya. Why she's there will be explained later.**

 **Tons of love.**

 **DiscordantSymphony**


	2. Chapter 2

The Old Witch of the North

Chapter Two

Ned Stark had seen many things in his life, some things that he understood and some things that he did not think he would ever be able to understand. But even with all of that, nothing had confounded him more than what he had seen in the clearing the night before. A group of wildlings, all but one of them slaughtered and in the middle of all that carnage an old woman who looked as like to harm anyone as Old Nan did.

The woman did not look quite as old as Ned's nan but the flower of youth had long since left her features and left her with deep valleys on her face and her hair, whatever colour it had been in youth was now a dull grey that fell past her shoulders and came to a stop at her stomach. Not a dangerous woman at all, not a noticeable woman. She looked normal.

But she was anything but.

The woman had agreed to come with them back to Winterfell, Ned was certain that they would not like what would have happened if they had decided to force the issue. They had brought the one wilding that had survived back with them as well but they had to throw him over the back of a horse and tie him to it for he could not move and he did not speak.

Ned sighed and reached for his cup of ale and took a deep sip from it, trying to gather some strength. It had been a long time since he had felt any true fear. The last time he had truly felt fear was when he was away at war and when Cat gave birth, but he had come back from the wars he had fought in the name of his King and his friend and Cat had always survived when she went into the birthing bed and brought their five babes into the world.

It had been because of one of those babes that they had been out in the wolfswood the night before. Arya had been found to be missing from her bed and the entire castle had been roused in order to search for her. In the wee hours of the morning, Sansa had come to him in his solar in her nightdress, weeping and hardly able to speak. Once she had calmed down enough to be heard, she spoke of a fight that she and Arya had suffered through and in her anger she had told her that she had wished that she was not there.

Ned had felt torn then, between wanting to comfort his eldest daughter for her words said during a childish argument, how many times had Brandon and Lyanna said cruel things to him when they were children that hadn't meant much of anything after a night of sleep? But Arya had always been somewhat more sensitive, he still needed to talk to Jeyne Poole for how she had given Arya the unkind name of horseface.

Ned had settled on pulling Sansa into a hug and pressing a kiss to here forehead, ensuring to her that no matter what she still had his love before sending her back to her bedchamber, promising her that soon enough Arya would be back in her bed and that she could, and would, apologise to her on the morrow. Sansa had left him alone then and Ned had sighed, hoping that he hadn't lied to his elder daughter.

Soon it became clear, Arya was nowhere to be found in the castle. The guards and the servants had helped him to turn over every stone of the castle, she wasn't hiding in the stables and as dark and massive as the godswood was, they had gone into it armed with torches and crying out his daughter's name, checking every single hollow, rotting husk of a tree trunk hoping that Arya might be hiding in one but it turned out to be a vain hope indeed.

It became clear to him by then that they would need to ride out, Cat took place in the sept alongside Septa Mordane to pray for Arya's safe recovery and well being while Ned rode out with Robb, Jon, Theon Greyjoy, Ser Rodrick and Jory Cassel. Robb, Jon and Theon took half the guard to scout out Winter town to see if Arya had headed that way while Ned and the rest of the men riding towards the wolfwood.

They had rode deep into the darkness, the light of the torches their only guide as they cried out for Arya. Arya did not call back to them, not once but as they rode Ned heard the sound of a child weeping and he followed it, clinging to the desperte hope that it was in fact Arya.

It seemed that the gods had indeed heard his prayer, or maybe Cat's gods had heard hers, because the crying did indeed lead him to Arya. While not quite half a squirrel as her younger brother was Arya was still a decent climber so he did not need to wonder for long how his daughter had wound up perched high in the branches of the old oak tree.

She was brought down to him and all the fear and anger born from that fear was forgotten when he looked at her, and saw how truly small she was. He would have to find out how she got past the gate with noone noticing and there would need to be a punishment for making them all worry as she had done but that could all wait untill the morrow, after Arya had slept the rest of the night in her warm bed.

Ned had picked her up, held her close to him and pressed a kiss to the top of her head and then placed her on the back of his horse and they had all started to make the long ride back to Winterfell, he would need to send one of the guards down to Winter town to let his sons and his ward know that Arya had been found and they could return to the castle.

Before they had reached the edge of the woods they had heard the noise, screaming and cursing and yelling and Ned, while he longed for his warm bed and the embrave of his wife know that he could not deny his duty. If someone of the North was in danger than it was his duty to ensure that they were safe, with a shout he ordered his men to turn and follow him while also telling Arya to keep her head low.

And that was when they found the old woman.

The memory was still enough to send a shiver through him and it had been enough to keep him awake for the rest of the night as he considered what it meant. He knew what some of the guards were already saying, that she was a witch and word of that was already spreading through out the rest of the castle, the servants know that their lord had brought back a witch the night before.

Some of the stories that had reached his ears were...interesting, to say the very least. One suggested that he had brought the witch back to Winterfell so she could use her powers to turn all of the copper and iron in the castle to solid gold, yet another had it that he had brought the witch back to wed her after she had promised that if he he did then she would cast a blessing of endless prosperity on the land and would make it so the chill of Winter would never bother them again.

And yet a stranger story suggested that the witch was going to awaken a horde of dragons that nested beneath the grounds of Winterfell, the same horde of dragons who used their flames to warm the waters of the castle that pumped through the walls in metal pipes. Ned had always assumed that everyone knew that the heat came from the water of the hot springs but he knew that when the lowborn did not understand such a thing as they, they would make up a story to explain it.

The door to his solar opened then and Cat strode in, beautiful as ever with her red hair shinning like copper. Her dress was a light green, almost like it was seafoam and her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, her face pale. Arya's absence had not helped her to sleep and the discovery of the witch had done nothing to help in that regard.

Maester Luwin slipped in after her, his chain clanking with every step that he took. He did not seem to have had a sleepless night but there was something about him today that Ned could not put his finger on, a sense of heaviness in his presence that was not simply his usual somberness. Ned was uncertain how to take that or what it meant for him.

"My Lord, I have heard that you have placed the woman in a tower cell?" Maester Luwin asked as he sat down in the chair on the other side of the desk while Cat came around the side and rested her hands on his shoulders. "May I ask why you have done such a thing? Putting aside for the fact that she is lowborn and not entitled to such gentle treatment, she has killed several people and would be better placed in the dungeons, surely?"

Ned couldn't help but frown at that, Brandon and Lyanna had both always said that frowns came to easily to his face. "She killed those who attacked her maester, she was unarmed and unarmoured. I do not see it as such a heavy crime to be forced into the dungeons, to be true she is dangerous but the tower cell serves and as Old Nan liked to tell me when I was a boy, always best not to anger a witch."

Now it was Maester Luwin's turn to frown, bringing up his hand to adjust his collar and chain. "My lord, I am more concern about this woman that just what a threat she might pose in terms of harm to the body. The fact that you truly think she is a witch, well, it concerns me. Many great and wise lords have been taken in by such fools, charlatans who claim to have great power and make shows with slight of hand and powders and it has always ended in disaster."

"Maester, how old would you say that woman was? Older than yourself but perhaps not quite so old as Old Nan, so not at all a young woman. She also does not seem to be well feed, in fact I think I would call her in truth quite a fraill looking woman. And yet last night this woman was set upon by a groupd of wildings, armed while she had no weapon but a knife she used to chop up her meat."

"And yet she lives while all but one of those wildlings are dead. If this is a trick, then it certainly an impressive one." Maester Luwin's frown deepened, clearly unsure of what to say to any of that. "The wildling that lived, what does he say?"

"The man is half mad with fear, my Lord." Maester Luwin spoke. "He does not speak for long stretches of the time, simply sits in the corner of the cell and rocks back and forth. When he does speak, it is only to scream at us. Begging us to not let the witch near him."

Ned frowned and fell silent as he considered what it all meant, after a moment he stood from his chair and gathered his strength. "I will go and speak with her then, I must do."

"Ned, no." Catelyn choose to speak then, her blue eyes were wide and her hands were shaking. She was afraid, he realised then. More afraid than Ned had seen her since the day she had come to him asking if Ashara Dayne was Jon's mother, the memory filled him with shame when he considered how he had reacted. He never wanted Cat to be afraid of him. "Witch or no, the woman is dangerous. Send her away, I do not want her in the castle. She will not bring us any joy, I can feel it."

"I must speak with her Cat." Though for the life of him he could not say why, perhaps the truth of it was that he was simply curious. A dangerous thing, something that a lord would be wise to temper but the temptation was too great. He would speak with her, he had too. Ned cupped his wife's cheek and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "All will be well." He promised, and he hoped that it was not a lie.

Maester Luwin looked more disapproving then Cat did but he knew he had less ground to complain against it and so Ned turned, left his solar and made his way to the tower where the witch was being held. Four men when on the door, more than normal but Ned did not wish to take any chances. Though if the truth was to be told, he was unsure what forty men would be able to do against her, let alone four, if she truly was a witch.

The woman was sitting on top of the bed, atop the furs, her legs were crossed and her eyes were shut. As soon as he took a step forward, her eyes slid open and she smiled at him. There was a gap between her top teeth and not for the first time Ned had trouble thinking of this woman as a witch, she certainly did not look like someone who would abduct children for her stew or dig up bones for use in dark rituals. She looked like she was some little boy's favourite grandmother, the sort who would slip him something sweet when his Mother was not looking.

"My lord of Stark, I thank you for your hospitality." Her voice was quiet, brittle. Almost as if she was on the verge of losing it. The woman stood from the bed and drew herself to her full height, which to be sure was not much. She was a small woman, not as small as a dwarf but not far off from that either. "It has been a long while since I've slept in a warm bed, with furs to cover men and a stone roof to keep off the rain and chill."

"You need not thank me for such, goodwoman." Ned spoke, falling back on the courtsey like it was an armor to keep him safe. So far, this had not been so very terrible. "Might I know your name?"

That seemed to amuse her, though she did not laugh mirth shinned in her eyes. "Forgive me, it has been so long since my name was asked. Aghna, is my name. Though none who gave me that name or those who called me by it still live, it saddens me to say. Still, it is as good a name as any and thus I hope it pleases my lord to use."

She was strange, that was all Ned could think when she had finished talking. And the name...It was an old name, born in the tongue of the First Men. There were some names like it still, but they had been changed and flavoured with the speech of the Andals. It was rare indeed to find such a name outside of the mountain clans and yet she did not seem like she belonged to the mountains.

"It is a fine name, goodwoman." Ned spoke and then cleared his throat as he considered the best way to ask his next question, in truth he imagined that the best way to ask it was to simply be honest and too the point. "Now, I must ask you another question I am afraid. Are you a witch?"

If she was shocked by the question then she did not show it, instead she merely wiped her hands against one another as though she was cleaning herself of some dirt that only she could see. "I am afraid that I have to ask my lord exactly what he means by that? Does he mean do I possess a knowledge of midwifery and herbcraft? If so then indeed I do as do a great many of old woman and many of these old women are termed as witches."

Witches never answered a question straight, but that should not suggest they were always lying. It was one of the first stories that Ned rememebered Nan telling him, when he had been very little he thought that she had been a witch, a good one. She always seemed to know so much, sometimes more than anyone else seemed too. She would just smile and knit, her needles clacking as she worked.

"If my lord instead means, do I possess some sort of hidden knowledge and power, then that is true as well." Aghna smiled then and crossed her arms over her chest. "But I assure you my Lord, I mean you no harm at all. I would not have ever crossed your path nor come to Winterfell, were it not for the fact that you came to my aid and asked that I came back with you. That suggests you want something from me, does it not?"

That wasn't exactly true, to be sure he had been the one who had brought her back here. It had been his choice when he could just have easily dismissed her and sent her on her way but he had not done that. "I was curious of you, I admit. I wanted to know more of you, I have never meet a witch before. I wanted to speak with you, is there something wrong with that?"

"A thousand cats will tell you what is wrong with curiousity my Lord, somethings are better left alone." Her voice had turned so sad for a moment, as if she remembered some great tragedy. She cleared her throat then. "So, you wish to know of me? Before we speak any futher my lord I have a question and I hope that you will answer it, I am a prisoner?"

Even if she was, Ned doubted that any cell would be enouguh to hold her. If she could kill four so easily, what was stone and mortar to her? "You may leave at any point you wish, goodwoman. You are a guest, nothing more. I shall dismiss the guards on your door this very instant and have a horse saddeled for you as well. If it would please you to take your leave of us."

"Does that imply that I could also stay for awhile as well?" The witch raised one of her hands and rested it against one of the walls of the tower, letting out a hum that seemed almost pleased. "It has been so long since I've been inside the walls of Winterfell, I'd forgotten how it felt. The magic that is weaved into every stone, oh, Brandon was a true master when it came to the craft. Not that he didn't have some help here and there, of course"

She couldn't mean Brandon the Builder, he was long dead by now but who else could she mean? The witch must have seen the confusion on his face as she smiled, laughed and pulled her hand away from the stone. "I am older than I look my lord, and I am well aware that I look very, very old indeed. What say you, may I take up a place inside your walls? If the answer is no, do not hesitate to ask and I will be gone before you know it. But I could be of help, in many ways."

Ned bit his lip as he thought on it, was it possible he was being played for a fool? Could this be some sort of mummer's farce in order to try and gain favour and influence? Anyone would know to mention Brandon the Builder to a northman, every northern child heard the stories of how he had raised Winterfell and the Wall at some point. Were the wildings truly dead? They had been forced to leave them and it had been dark, he had not taken a good look at the bodies and one was very much still alive, was his madness born from fear merely an act?

As he thought Aghna smiled at him, waiting for his answer and Ned did not have an easy one. "You say you could help, how?"

"In many ways, my Lord. You surround yourself with men who arm themselves with steel and iron, I arm myself with spells and the oldest of songs my mother and grandmother whispered to me in the night, I am good at herbcraft and I have seen to the birth of hundreds of babes, I could divine the omens to see any dangers coming ahead and tell you if there will be rain for the crops."

"Beyond all of that, I am an old, old woman. And I have seen much, too much. And with all the pain of that, there has come a great deal of wisdom as well. Wisdom that I would gladly share with my lord." She sighed then and shook her head, bring a hand up to rub at her eyes. "But I imagine that my Lady of Winterfell and the chained one have tried to speak against me."

Ned drew back, staring at her like he would someone who had drawn a knife on him? How could she know about that? The witch simply kept smiling. "Be calm my Lord, I have not seen into your mind. Merely observed. I noticed the septa and the septon conversing from my window, no doubt they are here for your wife and are whispering foolish talk of demon worship into her ears and how I will bring ruin. She is a mother as well, she will look for any threat to her babes and want it dealt with. I can understand that."

"And as for the grey rat." Aghna spit rapidly, three times. "Never trust a man who chains himself, that is a bit of wisdom for you already. For every word he speaks to you, for ever nugget of wise advice he partakes no he is holding a thousand things back from you. I know the Chained Ones, I know them better than they knew themselves and I know what they plan and scheme and plot. I know."

Her voice had turn strong, nothing brittle about it now and the shadows seemed to darken and creep forward and there was a chill in the air, sharper than before. The candle on the table's flame fluttered and seemed to make the shadows shift and twist and turn into fearsome beasts and might warriors, clashing against themselves. "Maester Luwin has been a humble and loyal man, I trust him. If you wish to stay, then you will remember that."

The room seemed to change then, Aghna did not stand so tall as she had done before and the shadows seemed to have retreated, the chill had lifted and the room had brighten. "I apologise my Lord, forgive me if you would. I assure you, It shall not happen again." She looked up at him then. "But does that mean that I can indeed stay?"

Ned sighed, he must have completely lost his mind but he nodded. "Yes, you may stay. But you will perform no magic inside the walls, not till I am sure that I can trust you. Also, if you do something that threatens or harms anyone under my protection then you must leave. Do you understand?"

Aghna did not hesitate to nod and Ned didn't know what to make of that. "Very well, I shall send someone to bring you to my solar in the morning and we can have a longer talk then. I shall wish you a good night my lady."

"A very good night to you my Lord, I shall see you on the morrow." Aghna walked back over to the bed, crossed her legs and shut her eyes. Looking exactly as Ned had first found, as if none of the conversation had happened in the first place.

Ned frowned and left her, dismissing the guards and wondering how he was going to explain this to Cat and if he had completely lost his mind.

End of Chapter Two

* * *

 **I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter!**

 **Next chapter, well, we'll see. I was going to have it be a Maester Luwin chapter but I have ideas for a Sansa and a Cat chapter and I think those would fit better first, but we'll see.**

 **Please leave a review, a follow and a favourite if you enjoyed.**

 **Lots of love!**

 **DiscoradantSymphony**


	3. Chapter 3

The Old Witch of the North

Chapter Three

The Sept that lay within the walls of Winterfell was ever one of her favorite places inside the castle, a little sanctuary where she could find peace among her own gods even this far in the North where men and women prayed to trees with carved faces in them in order that ancient gods with no names might hear them, even after all this time she still found it so strange.

But the Sept was her sanctuary, a place of safety and comfort when the demands of the day, or of several days, became too much for her to bear. And right now she needed all the comfort and the wisdom that her gods could give her. She had dismissed the septon and began lighting candles at the feet of the gods, when Ned had this place built for her she had been surprised when she found that all the gods had been wrought in stone as she was used to their images being carved into wood and then painted and decorated with jewels but she was not to complain.

It was the kindest thing that Ned had done for her since she had come North and the first gift that he had ever given to her, not counting Robb of course. It had been the first true step in the long journey between the two of them to reach this point now where she did not think she would ever be able to imagine a single day without Ned at her side.

Of course there were days where it was difficult, as she imagined it was with most marriages. Her husband seemed to have a habit of bringing things back to the castle that she did not want in her home. First had been his bastard and even the thought of the boy was enough to put her in a foul mood, then it had been Theon Greyjoy who had been brought back to serve as a hostage in order to ensure that his house would not raise in rebellion once again.

And now it seemed that he decided to bring witches into their home now as well, the stories that her maids had overheard from the men turned her blood to ice. An old woman who had been found in the middle of bloody carnage with the only survivor being too scared to speak any words expect pleas that the woman be kept away from him.

Catelyn Tully rubbed her arms in order to stave off the chill in the air, at least that was what she told herself. Soon all the candles were lit and Catelyn fell to her knees in front of the statue of the Mother and began to pray for safety and mercy, for her husband and her children and for all the people of Winterfell and for herself.

She turned to the statue of the Crone keeping her head bowed and begged for wisdom, both for herself and for Ned so that he would send the woman on her way and that she would never again darken their halls ever again. Her fear was all consuming and once she had finshed praying for wisdom she turned and began to pray to the warrior for safety.

She didn't know how long she stayed kneeling, praying to all the gods bar the Stranger, praying for wisdom and for peace and for safety and for things that she had no true words for but her knees were aching when the doors to the sept were flung open and Septa Mordane came running in. The holy woman's face was pale and drawn and tears were rolling down her face. "My lady, you must come quickly. It is the babe!"

"Rickon?" Catelyn whispered before she grabbed hold of her skirts and followed the septa out of her sanctury and into the cold night of the world, and it was a cold night even by the standards of the cold realm that she had made her home. Her breath hung in front of her like fog as she moved and every breath that she took burned the inside of her chest and her tears of fear threatened to freeze on her cheeks.

How had this happened? Rickon had been fine, he had stepped on a metal shaving when he had been wandering around the blacksmith's forge when she had turned her back for but a moment, there had been blood and tears and pain but Maester Luwin has removed it, cleaned it and bound it will a bandge around a poultice of herbs and Catelyn had pressed a kiss to the cloth and banished the tears.

He had been fine.

When she finally arrived at her son's room, she was struck dumb at what she saw. Master Luwin was holding Rickon's tiny pale hand in his own, his head bowed as his other hand was resting on her babe's forehead while Ned was standing to the side and if she did not know her husband as well as she did she might thought that he felt nothing for what was occuring in front of him but she could see the pain in his grey eyes.

For a terrible moment she thought that Rickon might have been dead but then she saw that his chest was rising and falling, but the relief that she felt was short lived when she saw how much effort it was taking him. She hurried over to his bedside, ignoring Ned for the moment when he tried to stop her by taking her hand and falling to her knees at her son's bedside and she took his other hand.

Catelyn glanced up at Maester Luwin, he had never looked so old or so small to her before this night. "Maester, what has happened to my son? He was fine only hours ago, how could this have happened to him in so short a time?"

"I am afraid that between the time I removed the shaving from Rickon's foot and applied the poultice, the infection had already set in." The man shut his eyes once again and bent his head, his great long chain clinking with the movement. "I am uncertain what to do at this point my lady, the only options would be purging or bleeding but in a boy as young as Lord Rickon it is just as like to kill him, if not more so."

Catelyn could say nothing to that, all she could in that moment was cling to Rickon's tiny little hand in hers that little bit harder. He could not die, surely he could not. He was still just a babe and the Mother had been kind, she had given Ned five children and none of them had ever been lost in blood and none of them had ever died in the cradle. This could not be happening now.

She was sure that she heard Ned and the Maester speaking of something or other, at the moment she cared for naught of it. All she cared about was Rickon, watching his little chest rise and fall with every laboured breath. Each time she was terrified that it would be the very last one that he would ever take.

The following days passed in a blur, Catelyn did not leave her son's bedside for even a moment. Food and drink was brought to her but she ate sparringly and sleep was a stranger to her. She prayed, to the Mother for her mercy and for the Father for justice and even to the Stranger for perhaps the very first time in her life, that he might spare her babe over.

Her other children came to the room over the days that followed, Robb sat at his brother's bedside and told him stories in the hope he might hear him and did his best to keep his tears out of his voice, Sansa prayed with her for a time before it got too much for her to see her little brother like that and she fled from the room weeping, Arya had simply came into the room and laid down next to Rickon, holding his hand while Bran laid at his other side.

Even Jon Snow had come but Catelyn had sent him away, her life was already coming down in flames she would not have Ned's baseborn get making it any worse for her. Her mind was so fogged that she couldn't remember clearly now but she thought that she might have thrown something at him. She had missed but the fear in the bastard's eyes only made her guilt worse and she had tried to apologise but the words would not come and thus she returned to her prayers.

She didn't know if it was day or night, all of time was reduced to the long moments betweenwhen her son took breaths, but as Septa Mordane began a new prayer and Maester Luwin poured a new potion down her son's throat in the hopes that this one might save him, the door to the bed chamber was open and Ned walked in with the witch he had brought into their home following him. Was she the reason for all of this, were the gods punishing them for her husband giving her shelter.

The witch had mostly been contained to her chambers except for the times when she was summoned to her Lord Husband's solar so that he might seek her advice but even so knoweldge of her being in the castle was on every tongue in Winterfell and all of the children had asked about her. All of them had wanted to see her, she had forbidden it and she prayed hard that night for her to be sent away once again.

She was a frail looking old woman with long thin grey hair and withered old skin but she as she strode across the bedchamber Cat didn't think she had ever been so terrified of anyone or anything quite so much as she approched her son. She stared at Rickon for a long few moments and when she spoke, her voice was as frail as she looked but also full of certainty. "The boy is going to die."

Catelyn could not stop the wail that left her throat even if she cared to try, it didn't matter if it was a witch's curse or a prophecy she knew that it was the truth. She had known it was the truth for so very long now she simply had not wished to face it. She brought the small hand up to her lips and pressed a kiss to the knuckles as she wept.

A hand was placed on her shoulder and she looked up expecting to see Ned but it was the witch, her eyes were not unkind but there was no comfort in them. "I can help him, but only if you allow it."

The words came out of her mouth, despite the protests of both Septa and Maester. "Help him, I beg of you."

The witch nodded only once before she walked over to Maester Luwin, retriving a piece of parchment from up her sleeve which she handed to him. "I will need all of these herbs, I do not have time to go out and find them so tell me Grey Rat, do you have these in your stores."

For a moment a flash of anger appeared on Luwin's face and Catelyn did not think that she had ever seen it before on the wise maester's face but as soon as it was there it was gone and with a sigh he bent his head and began to read the parchment he had been handed. "Yes, I have most of them. I do not have rosemary or mace but I am certain that the kitchens have them. I must point out many of these herbs are deadly in the wrong amounts."

"Everything is deadly in the wrong amounts, in the right ones it can save a life." She turned to Ned then. "My Lord, I will need water and it must be boiled for half of an hour to remove any impurities and it must be brought to me while it is still hot to the touch, hot, not warm. I will also need a dagger to cut the herbs to the right amounts and as well as that I will also need the sap of a weirwood."

Ned stared at her for a long view moments and in those moments Catelyn could not read him but the moments passed and Ned nodded. "As you say, Maester Luwin fetch Aghna the herbs that she has need of and give her what over help that she might require. I shall be back in a moment with the sap and the dagger and will have servants bring you the water." Her husband turned and left the room with Maester Luwin following after him.

It was an uncomfortable span of minutes as they waited for Ned and the maester to return, the witch took hold of Rickon's other hand and began to hum something under her breath. Septa Mordane began to accuse her of cursing him and Cat took the moment to send her away, witch or no if she could save her son then Cat would not allow anyone to get in the way.

The servants came face with a large bowl filled with water which the witch directed them to place on a table close to the bed, Maester Luwin came moments later with his hands full of the herbs and Ned came after him with a chunk of blood red frozen weirwood sap in one hand and a dagger in the other.

The witch nodded and then took the dagger and the sap from her husband, rasing the dagger and bringing it down hard on the sap to break it up into smaller chunks which she then placed in the still hot water making the smaller chunks melt and turn the water red. She then took the knife and began to cut through the herbs, chopping them into smaller amounts before adding them to the pot.

Once it seemed that all the herbs were added the witch began to speak, the tongue was strange to her and Cat did not know if it was a spell or a prayer but either way all she could do was watch as the witch worked. She soon took up a wooden cup and filled it with the blood red liquid and brought it over to the bed before she handed the cup over to Cat. "He must drink the first cup while it is still warm."

Catelyn nodded and Ned and Master Luwin came over to help her, as she poured the liquid Ned tilted Rickon's head back as Luwin massaged his throat in order to make her son swallow. The cup was empty in moments and Rickon still lay in bed, unchanged. She glared at the witch but she merely crosed her arms. "This is only the first cup, he must drink the rest of it. One cup every two hours, you will begin to notice an improvement soon enough."

"That is it?" Cat spoke as a sudden hysteria took over her as she rose up, a scream was bubbling at the bottom of her throat. "You are a witch, are you not? You have the power to kill men I have heard it said but you offer to save my son and it is not with spells or with whatever power you claim to have but with a potion? We have tried a thousand potions and none have helped."

To shame her, the witch did not rise to her sally and when she spoke it was not at all unkind. "There is a delicate blance that must be kept, in all things. To use my power to restore health is...difficult, I could do it but there would be a cost to it even if we did not see it right away. I have helped as much as I am willing too, a cup every hour till all of the potion is gone and then we will see. I pray for you and your son my lady, may Brighid give your son back his health and may Modron protect the little babe."

The witch turned and left the room and none of them made any attempt to stop her, Cat's face crumpled and Ned pulled her into his arms to give her comfort. The night passed slowly and with each hour that passed another cup of potion was drained and perhaps it was the blessing of the gods but she did begin to see an improvement, her son gained some colour back and he breathed a little easier.

When the final cup was drained away Rickon breathed easily and his skin was cool to the touch and Cat was so very relieve that all she could do was sob. Within a few hours Rickon was awake and was demand porridge with honey and berries, toast with blackberry jam and lemon cakes. Catelyn was so very relieved that she sent for all of that from the kitchens in a matter of moments after the demand was made.

Days after, the only evidence thay anything had ever been wrong with her youngest son was a tiny white scar on the bottom of his foot. Rickon was soon chasing after his brothers, trying to play their games and they were so glad that he was well once again that they did not try and send him away. The sight of it warmed her heart so much that she did not even speak a word when Jon Snow picked Rickon up and twirled the babe in the air.

No one would ever say that a daughter of Riverrun or a Lady of Winterfell was ungrateful so once she was cleaned and dressed Catelyn walked across the courtyard and into the tower where the witch's chambers were held. She was sitting down as she entered, a mug of steaming mint tea was in her hands and a half eaten fried fish lay in front of her. "Good morrow, my Lady. May I help you?"

"I have come to give you my gratitude, and my apologies. You have saved my son's life and I doubted your methord, magic or no it was you that saved him and I am grateful. I would welcome your council if you see fit to give it and-" She stopped for just a moment before she cleared her throat and began once again. "And all of my children have expressed a desire to meet you."

"My lady is too kind, I merely did what I could." There did not need to be anything more to be said so Catelyn nodded, thanked her again and turned to walk out of the room but stopped when a question occured to her.

"Brighid and Modron?" Aghna, that was her name and she had to try and remember it, looked up as she spoke. "Who are they? You spoke of them like they were gods but I do not know those names."

"They are old gods my lady, Brighid is a goddess of healing and Modron is the goddess of Motherhood, birth and little children." Aghna placed the cup on the table and rose from her chair and Cat realised that while the woman was small and frail there was something about the way she held herself, something that commanded respect and attention. "I invoke them so they might help in this matter."

"Old Gods?" Catelyn frowned as she thought about that for a moment, what it might mean. "Ned told me that the old gods did not have any names, that they simply were?"

Aghna smiled then, in a way that Catelyn wasn't quite what it meant. "The old gods were old my lady, they were old when even the Children of the forest were young. Their names have been forgotten, but not by all of us." A gust of wind blew and the shutters shook. "Will there be anything else, my Lady?"

"No, thank you." Catelyn said before she turned and left the chamber, her head swimming with a thousand new quetions and not sure if she wanted the answers to any of them.

End of Chapter Three

* * *

 **Hope everyone enjoyed this chapter, I certainly did writing it.**

 **If you did please consider leaving a review, a follow and a favourite. Constructive Critcism is always welcome.**

 **With a ton of love,**

 **DiscordantSymphony**


	4. Chapter 4

The Old Witch of the North

Chapter Four

Sansa felt almost as wicked as Arya as she, Jenye Poole and Beth Cassel slipped out of her chambers in the middle of the night and hurried down the corridors grabbed in dark clocks with hoods to hide their hair and features from sight. Beth was giggling and Jenya and Sansa both had to tell her to hush before she would be quiet.

Sansa was a good girl, she was always graceful and kind and ever so obedient while Arya was loud and uncouth and ruined all the dresses that she was ever given. Poor Septa Mordane was at her wits end with her sister she knew and if the truth was to be told so was Sansa, she knew that Arya was her sister and she was meant to give her love and care and try to teach her by example how to be a good and gracious lady.

But at some point Sansa had come to the conclusion that Arya was never going to learn how to be good and gracious and polite and clean, if anything Arya seemed to enjoy being none of those things. Honestly, she acted at times like she was the daughter of a stable hand and not the daughter of the Warden of the North. She would more as like never wed, becoming the maiden aunt of Winterfell who never could be married off, shaming all of them.

She would never normally spend this much time thinking about Arya and never this harshly either but memories of her running away in the middle of the night into the wolfswood had soured her towards her sister somewhat, she had the entire castle up in arms and almost all of the men including their Father and Robb out looking for her in the dark.

And all of that because of some silly fight that they had which Sansa could not even remember what the cause of it was, it might have had something to do with Jenye who kept calling her little sister Horseface whenever she was near. It was an unkind name and Sansa did not truly mean to laugh when it was said but with Arya's longface and dirty mane of hair, it was an apt one and she couldn't hold in the giggles.

At any rate, Arya shouldn't have been so senstive about such a little thing. Being upset about it was one thing, running off and having the entire castle having to go and bring you back was quiet another. When Sansa was upset, she merely stood and walked off silently, refusing to give those who upset her any more of her time and spent that time alone in her room, shaming who had hurt her with her absence.

She had used it on Arya quite a few times, not that it had ever seemed to actually work on her sister. Her little sister barely seemed to feel any shame about anything, it would lead her to a bad end she was sure enough of that.

Jeyne tugging on her sleeve brought her out of her thoughts and Sansa's eyes nearly popped out of her head when she saw Jory at the end of the hall, for a heart stopping moment she thought that he had seen her but he was facing the other way and Jeyne and Beth were quick to pull her behind a tapstry. Sansa held her breath as Jory's footsteps approached and then she let it go once she was certain that his footsteps had faded away.

Jory would never hurt her, but he would tell her Father and Mother that she was out of her bed and Sansa could not bear them thinking that she was causing trouble or that she was anything like Arya. Surely there was nothing in the world than could be worse than that.

Once they were certain that Jory was gone and the hallway was clear they resumed their journey towards the Witch's Tower, it was almost like something out of a song. Three young maidens on a journey to see a beautiful sorceress to beg her of a boon, hiding from evil knights and overcoming terrible challenges on their journey.

Except Jory was hardly an evil knight and if she was to be honest Aghna could hardly be considered beautiful, she looked a lot like Old Nan only with more hair and more teeth, Sansa had seen her plenty of times when she attened on her Lord Father for breakfast, sitting at his right as her Lady Mother sat at her left. She didn't talk much, unless someone asked her a question she was perfectly content to chew on bread that had been smothered in a massive amount of blackberry jam.

Of course, at a table that had Arya, Bran and Rickon sat at it meant that there was little peace and that the witch was constantly bombarded by an endless amount of questions. Aghna took them all with a great deal of grace, always ready with an answer for any silly question that they might have had and answering it with a smile that reminded Sansa of the smile her Mother had when she was a little girl and she had asked her questions.

Soon enough Robb and Jon started to ask questions as well and they were about just as sensible, Father and Mother asked the Witch questions too sometimes but it was always in a hushed tone that made it so very hard to overhear what was being said and that would often lead to them leaving the table so that they could go and speak in private.

In truth, Sansa was perhaps the only one who had never asked her any questions. Septa Mordane had warned her that even listening to a witch's words was dangerous, every word could be a part of some spell meant to ensnare them, to put them all under her thrall. The Septa was terrified of Aghna, Sansa saw how her good septa would almost turn to stone every time the old woman came into the room.

Witches were the servants of the most infernal forces of hell, the wives of demons who they had sold their souls to in pacts signed in the blood of their maidenheads, that was what Septa Mordane said. But Aghna had saved Rickon, when he had been ill and so close to death and she had asked for nothing in kind.

That didn't seem like something someone without a soul would do, she had thought that a soulless creature would more as like let baby Rickon die or would offer to save him in exchange for her Mother and Father's souls or to be given Winterfell for the life of their youngest son. But nothing had been asked for and Rickon was as bright eyed and breathless as he had been before falling ill.

Maybe just this one time the Septa was wrong, Sansa knew that her Septa was a good woman and a wise one who had helped her learn all that she would need to in order to be a good wife and a noble lady of a great castle but maybe in this matter the Septa was wrong, her Father wouldn't allow the witch to stay if he thought she would do them any harm.

Jeyne and Beth had both wanted to meet her, their Fathers had both spoken with the witch but apparently they had told their daughters nothing about what she was like and they had both begged her to take them to meet her and Sansa had resisted at first, Jenye's Father was her Father's steward and Beth's Father was her Father's Master-At-Arms and if they decided that they did not want their daughters to know her then it was not Sansa's place to disobey them.

But then Jeyne had spoken of what the stories had said that witches could do and she hadn't been able to fight back the temptation and for the first time in her life Sansa had disobeyed. The air held a chill and the dark shielded their features from anyone who might see them just as well as their cloaks, there would be men on the walls of course but they would be staring out into the dark looking out for anyone approching Winterfell.

They arrived at what the servants had termed the Witch's Tower ever since she had been housed within it and Sansa reached out to pull open the door, nearly jumping when the rusty iron hinges screamed out in protest, all the doors in Winterfell made that noise but it was different hearing it in the bright daylight or in the warm safety of her bed chamber than it was hearing in the cold darkness of night when they were trying to avoid attention.

"Sansa! We should get inside!" Jeyne hissed in her ear and Sansa nodded and pulled the door open and let Beth and Jeyne run inside first before Sansa followed after them and shut the door behind her. Sansa shut her eyes and allowed herself to take a breath in order to calm herself but she was not able to properly bring herself calm as a scurrying of footsteps made her snap her eyes open just in time to see Beth hurrying up the steps, breathless giggles echoing down the steps.

"Beth! Come back here right now!" Jeyne shouted and hurried up the steps after her and Sansa could only roll her eyes, thankful that no one had seen her do that. She like Jeyne and Beth well enough but in truth aside from them she was devoid of any other suitable company and while Beth was only still a little girl Jeyne was only a year younger than Sansa and yet in some ways she could be just as bad as Beth when it came to being immature.

Following her companions up the steps seemed to take what seemed like a much longer time than it should have, perhaps it was simply that she had never walked up steps in the dark before without a torch to light her way. Sansa had fallen off her pony once when she had been around the same age Bran was now and while she hadn't been hurt from the fall it had been so scary that she had cried and cried and hadn't tried to ride again until she turned ten ande even then the fall had soured it for her.

Now as she climbed the steps it reminded her of that feeling she had when she had realised that the pony was gone and she was falling to the earth, terrified and her stomach lurching forward. She was terrified that the next step simply would not be there and she would fall back into the darkness and that when she meet the ground it would be the end of her.

But a Lady showed no fear and the next step was always there and soon enough she had reached the landing where Beth and Jeyne were waiting for her outside the door. Jeyne was holding tight to Beth's hand and was staring at Sansa and then she knew that it would have to be her who opened the door and so Sansa did her duty and opened the door.

The Witch was sitting at the end of her bed, the room was as dark as night and the only light seemed to be coming from the moonglow flooding into the room and it turned Aghna's grey hair into the finest silver, her eyes were shut and she looked so peaceful and seemed to be almost an entire lifetime younger. She was peaceful and as beautiful as a still lake in that perfect moment.

It did not last as Jeyne and Beth came into the room and Beth slammed the door shut and the Witch's eyes opened and her entire body turned to face, the look in her eyes was enough to make Sansa want to go and run and hide and her voice was sharp. "Has your Nan never told you that it is unwise to bate a witch in her lair? Does she know no stories of that, I know several and would be more than happy to tell you them."

Sansa swallowed roughly and reminded herself that she was a daughter of the Warden of the North, she would show no fear. "I beg your pardon Lady Aghna, we did not mean to disturb you. We simply came to ask you someting?"

When the Witch heared her voice, her features seemed to soften once again. "Lady Sansa?" She asked as she stood from her bed and wave her hand in the air and Sansa felt faint as the candles on the the table and chest in the middle of the room lit by themselves. "I beg you for your pardon, my Lady. I did not see that it was you in the darkness and I am afraid you caught me as I was drifting off, how may I help you? Did your Lord Father send you to come and get me?"

"No, no. There is nothing wrong and my Lord Father did not send us, in truth he does not know that we are here." It just occured to her that it was likely that Aghna would tell her Lord Father that they had come to see her and Sansa wondered if she had truly thought this all out as well as she could have, it might be for the best if they withdrew now or she made up some little lie about not being able to sleep and hoping that Aghna would know some potion to help them.

But Jeyne spoke before Sansa could. "We want to know our futures! Who will we wed? Will Sansa be the Queen one day? The King is Lord Eddard's friend and Prince Joffery is not that much older than her, who will I wed?"

"You wish to know your futures?" Aghna repeted as she looked at Jeyne, bold as brass before turning her gaze to Beth and then on to Sansa. "I do not think that a wise idea, my lady. Many may claim to wish to know their future, but once they have learned it they often sing a different tune. I would suggest returning to your chamber and forgetting this night."

"We don't want to forget this night, we want to know our future's." Jeyne spoke again and Sansa was about to chastise her for being so rude but Jeyne barely took a breath. "And anyway, they are our futures aren't they? You don't deny you can tell us them and if there is something in them we don't like then we can change them, otherwise what is the point of being able to look into the future."

"Bravery and foolishness are two sides of the same coin girl, remember that." Aghna spoke again before returning her attention to Sansa. "My Lady, I will leave this matter in your hands. Shall I tell you you're futures, with the warning that I have given that you may not like what it is that you hear?"

Suddenly everyone was looking at her and Sansa chewed at her bottom lip as she considered, perhaps this was not a wise idea after all but Jeyne would never let her here the end of it. She nodded. "Yes, tell us our futures."

"As my Lady commands." Aghna said with a sigh before she picked up a little box from the table at her bedside before kneeling at the table in the centre of the room, the candle flames casting dark shadows on her face. She opened a small box and retrived a dark crimson stripe of silk and something that look liked a smooth red stone stripped with white. "We must do this one at a time, the little one first."

Beth rushed forward with no thought for any possible danger and knelt in front of the table, Aghna smiled at her softly and handed the stone over for Beth to hold in her open palm. Aghna placed her own palm over Beth's before using the stripe of silk to bind their hands together. The witch shut her eyes and began to speak in a tongue that Sansa did not know.

"I see your Father, little one. So tall and proud at the head of an army, I see the sea and I smell...I smell blood, bodies in the water. Swollen, bloated with death. Their are krackens in the water, dragging men down. And a butcher, with the head of a wolf and a skinned body." Aghna let out a breath and her eyes opened and Beth was starring at her silently.

Aghna quickly undid her binding and Beth jumped to her feet and threw herself into Sansa's skirts and Sansa was quick to sooth her, rubbing her hair as she glared at the old woman. "Why would you say something so cruel and awful?"

"I begged the gods for a glimpse of the future, and they provided it. I can not control what I am shown." Even so, she looked upset at causing such distress in Beth. "I warned you that you may not like what I see, the future is not so clearly laid out even to me. Will you not turn back from this now my ladies, has enough damage not been done."

"I want to see my future, anything bad you see I can change." Jeyne strode over and knelt at the table, picking up the stone and holding out her hand so Aghna could bind their hands together. Aghna sighed but did not resist, binding their hands together and speaking the words she had spoken with Beth.

"I see snow, the Old Gods must be wrathful indeed for such a snow to fall. A weirwood, tall and proud and rooted firm. Candles, bright lights in the hands of noble lords and fine ladies, all the lords and ladies of the North, and a maid all in white. Come to be wed she has, and wed she will be."

"My wedding day." Jeyne spoke, breathlessly and even though her back was to her Sansa could hear the smile in her voice. "Who is it, who am I to wed? It must be someone of good rank if all the Lords of the North come to it. Who, who is it?"

"It is him. The man with the head of the wolf and the skinned body, it is he you shall wed and you...you are wearing someone else's face." Aghna opened her eyes once again but Jeyne undid the binding before she could, getting to her feet and glaring down at her.

"What a load of foolishness, what is that meant to mean? I am wearing someone else's face, you're just a bitter old woman who's trying to scare us." Jeyne turned and took hold of Beth's hand. "And what's more, you're not a real witch. I've not seen you do any magic and my Father is Lord Eddard's steward and once I told him what you said, you'll be out in the cold by morning."

Jeyne left the room then with Beth in hand and Sansa just stood their, glancing back at Aghna. "Is that really what you saw? Dead men and skinned men and Jeyne wearing someone else's face, what does it mean?"

"What does a map mean to someone who does not know how to read? I saw glimpses of the future but it does not meant that I understand what they mean." Aghna picked up the stone and twirled it in her fingers, it almost glowed red in the light of the candle. She looked up at Sansa. "Can I beg you to turn away from this path now Sansa, no good would come of it I fear."

Sansa had quite enough predictions for the day, she turned to leave but then stopped and looked back at Aghna. "What you saw, whatever it meant, must it come true? Dead men can not mean anything good, nor krakens in the sea. Was Jeyne right, can the future be changed?"

"I would certainly like to hope so, otherwise why would the gods give me the ability to see?" The Witch placed the stone back into the small box before looking back up at Sansa. "Run along to bed my Lady, and sleep well."

Sansa nodded, turned and left the room. When she arrived back in her chambers Beth and Jeyne were already asleep and Sansa crawled into her bed next to them.

She did not sleep well that night.

End of Chapter Four

* * *

 **Please leave a review, a follow and a favourite if you enjoyed.**

 **Constructive Criticism is always welcome.**

 **With love and fondness,**

 **DiscordantSymphony.**


	5. Chapter 5

The Old Witch of the North

Chapter Five

The smell of pine was in the air and a soft fine snow was falling to the ground of the godswood and Aghna placed her hand in the smoking pool of black water in front of the massive heart tree that the Starks of Winterfell had prayed to for thousands of years and were likely to pray to it for thousands of years more, she hoped that it would be so at the very least.

Her sweet Brandon, how pleased he would be to see that his family had endured so long after he had gn as sharp as a blade made of dragonglass and yet he also never thought of himself as better than anyone either.

But for all the wisdom that Brandon had, all the strength, all the knowledge of magic and all the mighty wonders that he had raised, he had not been able to withstand the ravages of time as she had. He had lasted for a long time, longer than aone. He had been so handsome, so tall and dark and fiercely bearded enough to make any maiden fall in love with him at the mere sight and his mind had beeny mere mortal man should have done but he never truly turned his own magic inward enough to give himself protection from the ravages of age.

"My Wall will be my immortality, dearest Aghna." He had told her that the day he had died, his beard and hair and had gone snowy white and the firm muscle that had been his body had utterly wasted away, he looked so frail and so old while she had still looked so young. "Winterfell and Storm's End and Highgarden, they will be what I leave behind. I have need for nothing else."

He had died mere hours after saying that, his younger brother having him buried underneath the heart tree instead of in the crypts of their new castle and. Aghna had left that same night, to return to her sisters and her mother and her grandmother deep in the woods. She had not been inside the walls of Winterfell again since Lord Eddard had found her defending herself from the wildlings who had chosen to attack her.

The only man of them she had spared was still within the dungeons of Winterfell, she had asked Lord Eddard to not execute him yet as she wished to see him for herself. The Grey Rat called Luwin had protested to that, saying that fear of her had driven the man mad and that if he saw her again then all it would do is make him worse.

How she could make him madder was something she was certain wouldn't be possible, was what she had argued to Lord Stark but in this instance he had agreed to go along with the whim of the chained one and thus the man would do to be executed on the morrow, to have his head removed by the dragonsteel sword greatsword that the Stark Lords and the Kings of Winter had used for centuries.

Aghna took a deep breath and pulled her hand back from the pool of black water, thin whips of steam drifted off of her hand and into the air. When the water of the pool had grown still once again Aghna looked into it and smiled sadly at her own reflection, she had grown so old now. She had been young once, so very long ago now, while she had never been a pretty girl she had never been an ugly one either.

Age had ravaged her as it ravaged all, she had turned her own power inward in order to try and protect herself from it but all she had been able to do was slow it's steady march, it had taken thousands of years for her to look this old, how many more would it take before she looked like Old Nan? sightless, toothless and hairless. The magic was ever in her, she was eventually going to die as even for her the magic to live forever would come at far to high a cost, but she had slowed down her own time to stretch it out.

But soon enough, death would have her. It was a thought she had been having for such a long time now, the first time she had thought it was when she could sight of a single strand of white among her long black hair. It had looked almost silver in the moonlight, and delicate as well. It was the first reminder that she was still a slave to time as they all were.

There were other signs as the years dragged on into the centuries, how her bones would shake just before the winter winds were about to blow or when they were due for a harsh cold rain the morning after. All about her the forests were cut down and more holdfasts and stone keeps raised up in their place, the earth had broken apart in places while the seas bubbled and the skies burned.

And through it all, through wars and famine and illnesses that made others shake with cold or burn with fever, she had survived it. It seemed that her magic had protected her from that as well, a sword cutting her head off was most likely going to kill her as was a fire, a lance through the heart or a crossbow bolt in the eye but even then she was not sure. She wasn't in a hurry to test that specific theory.

She shook her head and dismissed the thoughts, that was certainly another sign that she had become an old woman, she was getting so wet eyed about days and people long dead now. She was not dead yet, she had much and more to do and she would not throw herself into the lichyard to keep company with them either. She was alive.

Aghna rose from where she was sitting and walked over to the heart tree, her fingers coming down to brush over the craved features in the white wood and over the frozen trails of saps that leaked from the eyes and the gash that was it's mouth. The blood of the old gods was what her Grandmother has used to call it and she had used for all of her potions and spells.

It had been one of her Grandmother's recipes that had saved the little babe when he had been on his little death bed. It was a stroke of good fortune that it worked, saving both the babe and ensuring that she had been in both Lord Stark's and Lady Stark's graces and that her place in Winterfell was trusted enough. But she had to wondered if she was truly trusted enough.

There was so much worse to come, she had seen it in the bones she had cast and in the blood of lambs. The old powers were moving once again, the dark as well as the light and to the far north the Great Other was stirring once again from it's longer slumber and he would bring the snow and the cold and the endless night and death, death as such had not been seen for thousands and thousands of years.

She had to find a way stop it, to defeat the evil one. A part of her, a weak part, prayed that Brandon's magic would be strong enough and it's malign influence and it's army of ice and the dead would not be able to pass his Wall but she knew that it would not hold against it, not forever at the very least. It's power was growing, she could feel it even here in the safety of the godswood where the protection and the power of the gods should have been at their strongest.

But even the gods were screaming, the air blew around her like a frenzy that even those who had forgotten their connection to the gods would be able to hear their voices, even if only just barely. Aghna for herself could barely handle it but she knew that she had too, it had to be done and it had to be her to do it.

She breathed deep and rested her hand on the carving of the face once again, closing her eyes and giving herself over to the gods so that she could see what was needed of her.

The visions that assaulted her came on like a storm, an army of men all in black standing atop the wall starring into the coming darkness where blue eyes peered out and up at them, a dark raven fluttered from from a tree branch all three of it's eyes were staring down at her, a silver hair man sat on a throne of twisted iron and for a moment his eyes flashed green before the green flames burst out of the ground and consumed all.

A man with burning sword standing amidst a blizzard, a woman all in red standing on a beach with burning idols all around, shadows swarming to serve her. A mountain of corpses pilled on a battlefield, a great wounded dog with red and white flowers blooming from it's body as a woman lead it with a tight leash around it's neck.

And then a small boy, climbing higher and higher and higher, higher than any boy had ever climbed before and then he was thrown down to the ground yet he never hit it. Wings sprouted from his back and a third eye opened on his head even as his other eyes melted out of his face.

 _He's just a little lad, must it be him?_

 _Yes_ thought the raven as he landed on her shoulder _it must, we are all children once. Old woman. Sacrifices must be made._

 _I know that, Bloodraven. Do not speak to me of what I already know._

 _He has the sight, but he is bound by dreams and hopes of the future. The chains must be broken if his eye is to open, it is the only way and you know it to be true._

 _He wishes to be a knight, he asked for me to give him a magic sword that he could take on a quest._

 _He will go on a quest, if not the one that he first though._

 _Do not attempt to placate me or speak to me like I am a fool, I know that this must happen. I will not interfere._

 _You must not heal him, you must not even attempt to heal him. Swear it._

 _I will not heal him, I give my word. The gods stand as witness._

 _Agreed. Return now old woman, I have the watch._

And just like that, she was free and back in the real world once more. The same soft fine snow continued to fall around but it seemed even colder now than it had done before, but perhaps that was just her.

"Are you talking to the gods? Can you do that as well?" Brandon Stark called down from where he was tucked up in a tree, staring down at her with blue eyes. Innocent eyes, he was not much older than a babe. "Can witches talk to gods as well? Mother's septon says that in the South, witches are accursed and used to be burned alive."

"I shall tell you a secret, little lord. It is a grave secret and you must swear to never tell anyone what I tell you. Do you swear to take this secret to your grave?" Brandon Stark was a little boy, so being offered a secret was irresistible and thus he quickly nodded his head without even thinking. "Very well, your Mother's septon is a nitwit."

He broke into a fit of giggles at that, holding his belly until he stopped but even so atop the tree limb he did not lose his balance. He never falls, that was what the people of the castle when they spoke of their lord's second trueborn son. He never falls. After a few more moments of laughing, he calmed himself and rubbed at his eyes to brush away the tears of mirth.

"But can you talk to the gods? Do they like witches?"

"Gods are gods, little lord. If they did not like the fact that I could do what I do why would they give me the power to do it? Why would they not call down all their wrath upon me to rid me from the world if it is such an offense? I can not say if the gods like witches, but they had never troubled me for being one either."

The boy feel quiet as he thought about it for a moment before he stood and leaped from the tree branch, something old and something that Aghna had thought long forgotten came to rear it's head as the boy landed on the ground, her hands outstretched to grab him but the boy himself was fine, acting as though he had just walked into a room through a door. "My lord, you should be more careful with yourself. You might have hurt yourself from a fall like that and you know that your Lady Mother does not like you to climb."

"I know, but I'm fine. I don't fall." Bran smiled up at her and it was a smile that Aghna knew allowed him to get away with a great deal too much trouble. "You sound like Mother sometimes, nice but kind of mean but in a good way cause you want to keep me safe. Do you have children of your own? Can they do magic as well?"

"...no, my little lord. I have no babes and none had my gifts." She rested her hand on his back and turned him towards the gate of the Godswood. "Go back inside little lord, it is cold out here and I believe there shall be some apple cakes that need to be stolen from the kitchen. Go."

Brandon Stark was a little boy that knew nothing of any sorrow, his days were long and there were always sweets and warm food and he was going to be a knight, what reason did he have to suspect that anything to bring him ill and sadness would be coming for him? So he smiled and ran into the direction of the apple cakes.

And the old witch watched him go, weeping. Twisting the weirwood seed in her hands.

End of Chapter Five

* * *

 **Please leave a follow, a favorite and a review if you enjoyed.**

 **With tons of love,**

 **DiscordantSymphony**


	6. Chapter 6

The Old Witch of the North

Chapter Six

A harsh wind had attacked the shutters, causing them to shudder and for a moment she might have thought that they were going to blow off of their hinges from the sheer unrelenting force. But Brandon the Builder had built strong and he had built to last and Winterfell would endure just as the family who lived inside of it's walls would endure.

She had seen them do it for so very long, for over thousands and thousands of years. There was so much darkness to come, a darkness that would threaten to consume the entire world and it would need all the armies of the living to stand together if they were to have any chance of beating back the Great Other and his armies of ice and cold and death.

But in order to do that, sacrifices would need to be made. She could not flinch from them now, not after everything she had done to get this far. Brandon Stark was one of those sacrifices, he would not die if not in a physical sense but the life he had wanted would be stolen away from him and at the end of his journey, he would not be the same little boy that began it.

He wouldn't be any sort of boy at all, sending him to the Bloodraven was not something that she wanted to do but the bodies of men were weak and death would not be forsaken forever, a sad fact of life but a true one. Aghna knew for herself that death would come to claim her as well as it had done so many others in her life. Her magic was a candle flame in the middle of a storm, and one moment or the other the storm would blow the flame out.

But not, worked needed to be done and she was the only one who could do it. It was a sad fate to be sure but she had come to terms with it a long time ago and it was needed. Her life was not more important than the rest of the world and all the souls that resided within it. She had to see it done. It was just that she was so very tired, tired of losing everything that had mattered to her, losing everyone that had mattered to her.

But it was almost at an end. The magics beyond the Wall were growing in strength and she could feel that soon all of her sweet Brandon's work would be all for nothing, the magic that kept the Wall standing was weakening as were the magics that kept the Others in their long slumber. It was going to be hard to deal with it all but it had to be done.

Aghna pulled at a thread of her sleeves which had come loose until it completely unraveled. She had the trust of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn, so the first step was done but there were thousands of leagues left to cross before she could sleep. The King who sat the throne forged from Fire and Blood and surrounded himself with lions was on his way to Winterfell and she would need his aid, as he was the only one who could give her all the swords of the Seven Kingdoms of men.

And it was only with those swords that they would have any chance of standing against the armies of the Great Other, though she did not fool herself into thinking that it would be easy to convince them. King Robert was coming to Winterfell in order to name Lord Eddard as his hand. Or at the very least, that was the wisdom that was being passed around by Winterfell's servants.

They were less wary of coming to her now, now that there lord had seen fit to trust her. It was a daily occurrence that she had to say no to some kitchen girl or milk maid who came to her asking for a love potion to make sure that their man stayed true or to sway the affections on another on to them, silly childish things asked with no malice but with no understanding of what it is that they were actually asking her for.

Still, the men and women of Winterfell had become rather proud of 'their' witch and all of them treated her with a respect that for the most part, was only ever meant for their lords. It made her said, when she remembered by the time that Winter was over, most of those men and women, most of those boys and girls, would be dead and burned to ashes.

She would do all that she could to stop it, but the Others were coming. And death came with them and whatever power she had, no matter what difference she might make in the war to come, she would never be able to change that.

A heavy sigh that rattled her bones left her chest as Aghna bent her head and brought her hands up to run her fingers through her hair. She should be abed and slumbering by now, but it seemed that the gods wished for her to be kept awake for some reason. Even her grandmother's tea that as a girl had always managed to sooth her fears and always gave her a deep and dreamless sleep would not touch her tonight.

Aghna rose from the floor and made her way over to the door, hoping that a walk would help her to sleep. She grabbed a fur to guard herself against the chill and once it was wrapped around her. The chill was bitter, she was a daughter of Winter but even to her this was a night that she would much prefer to be inside, next to a roaring fire with a cup of mulled wine in her hands but all she truly wished for at that moment was sleep.

The castle was as silent and cold as the grave, with only a few spots of light on the battlements as the torches burned against the endless cold while men clung close to any sort of warmth that they could find. It was a cold night, but she knew that there would be colder and colder to come. And the little light and warmth of this night would be swallowed up into the greater darkness.

She needed to go to the Godswood, not to communicate with Bloodraven. No, for the first time in a long time, she simply wished to pray.

But it seemed that the gods would not have her be alone that night, as the boy was in the godswood ahead of her. He was hitting an elm tree with his tourney sword, the blunted steel bouncing off of the wood again and again again. She watched him silently until he tired himself out, dropping the sword on the ground as his chest rose and fell. "Well, you've certainly punished the tree thoroughly. I am sure that whatever it has done, it's learned his lesson."

Jon Snow jumped at her voice and when he spun around to face her his eyes were wide, for a moment his features were shocked before his lips jutted out in a pout that looked almost indignant, if such a pout could be called that. "It's cold my Lady, you should be abed." His voice almost sounded like his Father, when he tried to give a command.

It was sweet, as was the fact that he thought he could command her. "Many things have tried to kill me lad, a bit of cold will not be what does me in. Not this night, at least." She tilted her head at him and smile. "Besides, I have such a brave warrior to defend me. I need not fear any man, when you are near. However, if old women should be inside in this cold then so should bastard boys who are not yet fifteen."

The pout deepened again at her words. "I assume that when you attack that tree, you wish that you are attacking Lady Stark?" Jon Snow's eyes had gone wide and his face had gone pale and he began to stumble over his words but Aghna raised her hand to stop him. "Calm yourself, lad. I will not betray you. Tell me, what is wrong?"

"Lady Catelyn says I am not to sit with them on the dais when the royal family feasts with them, nor I am to stand with them when they arrive." Jon Snow's eyes seemed wet, but Aghna did him the courtesy of not drawing attention to that fact. "It isn't fair."

"Life seldom is." Aghna walked over to the weirwood and rested her hand against the great white tree, taking strength from feeling so close to her gods. "It gets no easier, Jon Snow. Take that advice from a woman who had lived longer than you ever will, if the gods choose to be kind to you. There will come a day when you back on your days at Winterfell as the happiest of your life. Even Lady Catelyn, trust me, I know."

"As you say, my Lady. May I go?"

"Not yet." She reached up into the branches of the weirwood and muttered a prayer under her breath before with all her strength she snapped it off. Jon Snow watched her as she draw a knife from her clothes and cut it in half and handed him one of the halves. "You took some advice from an old woman, now take some advice from a witch. Keep this bit of weirwood with you, always. You never know when you might have need of it."

"Yes, my lady." Jon looked at the weirwood for a long moment before he took half of it and then left, leaving her on her own in the godswood. Aghna sided one he had left earshot and stared down at the other half of the weirwood that she held in her hands, she muttered another prayer before she threw it into the black waters of the steaming pool.

She had sensed the blood of Valyria in the boy since the moment she arrived in Winterfell, it did not take her long to figure out where it had come from. He could be the one, the Last Hero come to save them all in the end. But he might also just be a Targaryen bastard lied to by all those around him, assuming that he was actually the son of the Lord of Winterfell.

Either way, she would leave nothing to chance. The weirwood she had given to him was blessed, if he did as she said and carried it with him then it should keep him safe, or safer at the very least, until the time was right. But there was so much left to do, and miles to go until she slept.

And so, the old witch of the north dropped to her knees, bent her head, closed her eyes and began to pray.

She did not leave the Godswood, until the dawn began to break.

End of Chapter Six

* * *

 **Sorry this chapter is a little short guys, it's the shortest I know but I would rather give you a short chapter that is to the point rather than stretch it out just to get up the word count.**

 **This is the end of what I think can be termed as the set up of this story, introducing Aghna and what her deal is. Next chapter we get into how the wider world views her as we switch to a P.O.V that is the first perspective not from the North, who will this chapter be told from the perspective off? Well, I'll give you one hint.**

 **In a coat of gold, or a coat of red, a lion still has claws.**

 **Fun fact, you may have noticed that Aghna referred to Valyria as just that instead of Old Valyria, unlike most characters? That's because, remember she's been around for a long time, the Doom only occurred like a century before Aegon's Landing, to her that's like a sneeze.**

 **Anywho, I hope you enjoyed this one and I also hope you will consider giving this chapter a like, a follow and a favorite.**

 **With a ton of love,**

 **DiscordantSymphony**


End file.
